


How I Met Melinda-Neighbors AU

by 26stars



Series: How I Met Melinda [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, F/F, Fluff, Gen, Meet-Cute, Melinda doesn't know it but she does too, Skye just needs someone, not romantic but it's still a cute first meeting, that could be more...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-17 21:43:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10602843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/26stars/pseuds/26stars
Summary: I needed some more fluff in my life and was kindly prompted this AU meeting:“This is totally awkward considering before this the only interactions we’ve ever had have been casual nods to each other in the hallway but there’s a huge fucking spider in my bath tub and you seem like the friendly neighbor type please help me”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Book_freak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Book_freak/gifts).



> I wrote this in an hour and didn't proof-read too closely, so apologies in advance.
> 
> Here's the list of [au meetings](http://alloftheprompts.tumblr.com/post/159301491701/here-have-some-aus-as-if-there-arent-enough-on) that this prompt came from, and I'm not saying I'll write all of them, but there are days when I need more fluff and this is a good place to start. If you want to join the fun, go take a look.

It’s not that late, but since she’s always been an early riser, Melinda is already in her pajamas and curled into the corner of her sofa with a book and a last cup of tea when she hears the knocking at her door. She’s not expecting anyone (she’s never expecting anyone), so rather than standing immediately to answer, she waits for a moment to see if she imagined it, if the person will look at the number on her door again and realize they’ve got the wrong place, if they’ll give up and walk away…

But the knocking comes again, sounding, somehow, a little more urgent, and Melinda sets her book aside and climbs to her feet. The visitor is knocking a third time when she reaches the door and peers suspiciously through the peephole. On the other side, Melinda sees a young woman with wet hair standing in a bathrobe, one palm pressed against her forehead, as if holding a wound.

Seeming to sense Melinda’s presence on the other side of the door, the girl suddenly looks directly at the peephole.

“I’m sorry,” she says in an embarrassed voice, “I know we don’t know each other, but if you have a minute, I could really use some help…”

But Melinda is already removing the chain and opening the door, facing the girl and taking in her bedraggled appearance. Now she clearly recognizes the woman, a girl who lives down the hall on this level. They’ve passed each other in the building and ridden the elevator together a few times, but Melinda can’t think of a single word they’ve spoken to each other in the past.

That doesn’t seem to make any difference to this girl, though.

“Thank you,” she’s saying gratefully as Melinda opens the door. “I’m sorry, I just…it’s just me in my apartment, and I kind of need…”

“Some stitches?” Melinda finishes, staring at the hand pressed firmly against her head, where blood is barely seeping out. “A ride to a hospital?”

“What? This?” the girl says, pulling her hand away from her head. There’s quite a lot of blood smeared on her skin and on her hand, and Melinda might be a little nauseated if she weren’t used to it from another life…

“That looks serious,” she says quickly, taking a step back and gesturing the girl in. “Come in and let me take a look at it.”

The girl presses her hand against her head again looking even more embarrassed. “I ah, actually didn’t know I was bleeding that badly,” she admits, shuffling her feet. “The thing is, I was going to ask if you could help me with something in my apartment…”

Melinda feels her brow furrow. “What?” she asks, cocking her head.

The girl glances down the hall towards her own door. “I uh, hit my head on the towel rack because I was trying to get out of the shower as fast as I could just now. You see there’s this _giant-ass_ spider…”

Melinda wants to laugh, but she just reaches over and pulls her keys off the table, stepping out into the hall and locking her apartment door after her.

“You didn’t lock yourself out of your place, did you?” she asks, glancing at the girl’s empty hands and they both turn down the hall together.

The young woman finally laughs a little, sounding very relieved. “No, I think I left the door standing wide open actually…”

She did. The floor plan of the apartment is nearly the same as her own, so Melinda moves without hesitation into the girl’s home and towards the bathroom.

“Where was it?” she calls over her shoulder as she moves towards the sounds of a running shower.

“It was dropping down from the ceiling when I noticed it,” the girl answers from behind her as Melinda steps into the humid room (the bathroom vent in her apartment sucks too). “Which is mostly why I reacted the way I did. It was pretty Hollywood.”

Sure enough, the offending houseguest is on the wall of the tub/shower now, safely away from the spray. The girl wasn’t kidding—it’s a big one.

Melinda reaches over and turns off the water, then grabs a clean handtowel from a shelf and tosses it to the girl, who is hovering in the doorway.

“Hold that against your head,” she orders in the authoritative voice that she’s tried to check around strangers, but the girl doesn’t seem offended, just catches the towel and replaces her hand with it. Melinda picks up a cup that is resting on the bathroom counter and brushes back through the doorway to grab a thin magazine off the coffee table.

“You’re not doing to kill it?” the girl asks, surprised, as Melinda brushes past her back into the bathroom.

“Not if I don’t have to,” Melinda says, putting one bare foot on the far side of the tub and leaning over to easily catch the spider beneath the cup. “It’s not her fault that she looks scary.”

The magazine slides easily between the lip of the cup and the wall, and Melinda tips the cup upright, straightening up.

“Go open your window,” she orders as she moves back towards the girl, who backs away from her quickly and scurries over to the living-room window.

Cool November air blows in as Melinda leans out the window and dumps the creature onto the fire escape, where it scurries quickly into the shadows. Melinda leans back in and shuts the window quickly, and the girl sighs gratefully.

“Thank you so much,” she says, sounding as if Melinda has saved her from certain death. “I’m so sorry to bother you. You probably think I’m nuts…”

“Everyone’s afraid of something,” Melinda says with a shrug, setting the cup and magazine back on the table and facing the girl again. “Can I take a look at your head?” she offers, glancing at the place she’s pressing the towel.

The girl takes the towel down and lowers her head a little, and Melinda steps closer, peering in the dim light at the small wound. It’s relatively shallow, but head wounds always bleed a lot.

“Well doesn’t look like you need stitches,” she says, leaning back as the girl straightens up. “Do you have a first aid kit though? I can help you clean it and bandage it up.”

The girl shakes her head, glancing away. “I think I’ve got a box of bandaids somewhere in that bathroom,” she says, taking a step back. “I’ll be okay.”

“I have one,” Melinda says quickly, turning towards the door. “I’ll go grab it. Sit tight.”

The girl has obviously tried to straighten up the living room a little in the time it takes for Melinda to go retrieve the white box that she keeps under her bathroom sink. It’s very much a young person’s apartment, Melinda notes, looking around at the mismatched furniture and clutter. There are a few days’ dishes in the sink and a laptop on the kitchen counter, and as she glances subtly towards the bedroom, Melinda sees an air mattress on the floor in place of a bed.

“Sorry about the mess,” the girl is saying, still attempting to stack things on her coffee table with one hand.

“Don’t worry,” Melinda says, wetting a paper towel under the kitchen tap and gesturing to the sofa. “Sit down.”

The girl perches on the sofa, still holding her robe tightly around herself, and though she tips her face up she keeps her eyes down as Melinda pulls on a pair of sterile gloves and stands over her. She first carefully cleans the blood away with the wet paper towel, then opens an alcohol pad to clean around the wound before dabbing at the wound itself. The girl flinches then, and Melinda automatically puts a steadying hand against her cheek.

“Stay still,” she orders, feeling the girl stiffen beneath her touch before she pulls her hand away. Melinda puts a barrier of cotton around her skin and carefully pours a small amount of hydrogen peroxide over the small gash, cleaning it away as it bubbles painlessly over the wound. Once the skin is dry, she carefully closes it with a single butterfly bandage.

“That should be all you need,” she says, straightening up and gathering up the pile of trash she’s created. “You’ll probably have some bruising around that for a couple of days, but you should also keep it clean until it heals up.” Melinda pulls a few of the alcohol pads out of her med kit and drops them on the coffee table.

“Thank you,” the girl says, sounding much more hesitant this time and still avoiding Melinda’s eyes. “I’m sorry for being so much trouble.”

There is something in those words that hints at baggage Melinda can’t yet see, something that hints at a sentiment rooted deep in this girl's heart. As she closes the box up again, Melinda knows she can leave now without signing up to deal with anything else in this kid’s life and let those things remain a mystery. When she picks up the box and straightens, though, the girl finally looks cautiously up at her again. The look in her eyes makes the decision for her.

“I’m Melinda,” she says, offering her free hand.

The girl looks both surprised and relieved, starting to reach for her hand before realizing her right hand is still smeared with blood, so she places her left hand in Melinda’s instead.

“Skye,” the girl says, a hesitant smile breaking across her face.

Melinda’s smile feels forced but not fake ( _just_   _rusty_ ).

“Skye,” she repeats, nodding. “Well, if you want to finish your shower and then come back to my place with clothes on, I’ll make you some tea so you can calm down a little before you sleep.”

Skye’s smile seems to get warmer. “That'd be great,” she says, standing with her hand still inside Melinda’s. “I think I might burn that cup and magazine first, though.”


End file.
